Page 48 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Are you…” She could hardly believe it, but she had to ask. “Are you jealous?”

That damnable glaze of mischief returned to his eyes. “That is an emotion I experience quite often, yes.”

She gave an exasperated sigh.

Malik chuckled as he retreated near the window.

“What I meant,” she said, unable to let it go, “is, are you jealous of Lord Griffith? Of the painting I’m working on?”

He stood with his hands behind his back. One might think he saw something of particular interest outside, except there was little to see but blurs of light and color. Finally, he looked back over one shoulder. “I’d think most people would be jealous of someone who received such a lovely and personal work of art, wouldn’t you?”

Insufferable man. He was toying with her, again. Bronwyn set her lips in a thin line and pushed to her feet. But as she did, she was a little too aggressive with the stool beneath her, and it rolled away before she’d quite got her footing. “Oh!” She wobbled, trying to find her balance, afraid of tumbling into her paints, or worse, the still-wet painting.

Suddenly, Malik was there. One strong arm looped around her back; another grabbed her arm and hauled her against his chest.

She barely grasped what was happening before he leaned in, his breath ghosting across the shell of her ear as he said, “Of course I’m jealous of him.”

“Malik…” Bronwyn clutched at his chest, the comment making her more off-kilter than her almost-fall. Her lips parted in wonder. “But you—”

The soft touch of something at the pulse of her throat made her gasp. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe it was nothing. But she would swear it was the brush of his lips against her skin.

A loud knock sounded at the door.

They sprang apart at once, Bronwyn nearly tipping over again in the process.

The door swung open, and Wynni entered with a flourish, wearing a dress that must have been an old costume for its excess of ruffles and glittering sequins. It wasn’t something that someone would wear on a normal day at the opera house unless one was a performer, or Wynnifred, with her love of over-the-top fashion and accessories.

“Ah, Malik, my doorman said you were here, and I—” Her head tilted to the side as she took them in. “Are you two quite all right?”

“Yes, of course,” they echoed at once.

“Mmm,” she mused, looking between them.

Bronwyn had never felt so guilty yet so unsure of what she’d done to feel that way. Her cheeks burned, and it took all her nerve not to storm off. Meanwhile, Malik looked completely fine, as if they’d been having a very normal, civil chat about the weather.

“Well, so long as you’re both fine.” The tone of Wynni’s voice said she considered the matter closed. “Malik, dear, since you’re here, I hoped you’d come and watch this next part of the rehearsal with me and give me your thoughts. Something isn’t quite right, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

He dipped his head. “Always happy to help a friend.”

“You’re welcome, too, of course, Miss Kinsley. In fact, I’d more than welcome another opinion.”

And sit next to Malik, pretending everything was fine after whatever had just happened between them? No, thank you. “I have some paintings I’d like to finish up, if that’s all right.”

Wynni sighed. “It’s important to have some fun in life, dearie. All work and no play,” she tsked.

“Perhaps soon.”

“I consider it a promise,” Wynni replied. “And I’m saving you a seat at the opening performance. You better be there.” She wagged a finger the same way she’d wave one of the fans she usually carried. “It’ll do you good to relax. I’ll never say no to a woman pursuing the arts, but expanding your horizons is healthy, too.” She turned to Malik and extended an elbow. “Well, come along, they’re about to get started.”

Malik joined Wynni near the door but stopped short of taking her arm and turned to Bronwyn.

Breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze. His throat bobbed before he said, “I’ll have what you asked for delivered to your room at the castle. Then you can affix it to the painting however you like.”

“Thank you,” she mustered. That did make sense. It would be easier to glue on the spell or something rather than potentially mess up her work, particularly since it was still wet. She really should have had him work the spell before she’d gotten started on it.

He gave a single nod in return, face expressionless.

“Ohh, what is this intrigue?” Wynni leaned in, eyebrows waggling.

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